An Emily Wright Original about the echoes of grief are reminders of all loss.

An Emily Wright original poem.

This pandemic has highlighted how little, we as a society value our working moms and how easily we expect more from them.

Her Armor is about working moms and their resilience in the face of the pandemic. With the ever changing restrictions, child care was a constant concern. They endured. With no choice but to carry on, doubt and uncertainly weighted heavily on their hearts while everyday they dawned their armor needed to see their children through. Many women left the work force sacrificing their careers and the efforts to break that glass ceiling. The pandemic has left its mark on us all, but especially mothers.

An Emily Wright original poem about impaired driving. A shared secret about life, love, and loss.

An Emily Wright original poem and shared secret of life, love, and relationships.

An Emily Wright original poem. Fragile is a shared secret about being unsure about trusting the heart and falling in love again.

An Emily Wright original poem and shared secret.

An Emily Wright original poem

about love, relationships, and heart ache.

Love and release is a lot like dying. This poem depicts just that.

An Original Rant – by Emily Wright

Privilege without power in the struggle for change.

I don’t know what happened or when everything changed. The course was once so obvious and clear. Destinations were not always visible but the drive and the path were present and in focus. I knew I was moving forward to something big and something important. Never was I fueled by a strive for riches or fame. It has always been about the pursuit of change for better. 

   Now, I am not so sure. Where has my champion gone? I understand now that the lack of confidence to do anything is about the thoughts that carry you through. These thoughts, I had taken for granted. They always said go, leap, it’s yours. Now, there is doubt and uncertainty. 

Unaware then, that those thoughts were my privilege.  It never occurred to me how entitled I felt to take on the world. I didn’t understand what insecurity sounded like. 

That is not to say I was never insecure. On the contrary. My appearance, body size, reputation, and intellect have always been flawed through my lens. Not living up to my potential is my biggest fear and thoughts of doubt needle away at me and rob me of sleep some nights. But I have never doubted the possibility of achieving any goal. 

Anything is possible

 If I could carve out time to work out, I could lose weight and get back my old body type. If I cared to pluck, manicure, and primp, I could restore my shine. If I, then I. If I, then I. All of those statements imply I have control or some sort of say over my future, my success, my goals. In there lies my privilege. 

 Not having the time, motivation, and will to achieve something is very different than not having the opportunity. And the truth is, I have never been without the opportunity. 

I have always been of the opinion that I have some power over my current situation. Not that I can prevent bad things from happening, but when they do, I determine how far I will fall, how long it takes to dust myself off, and when I step back into the ring.

It is knowing the possibility of better exists.

Better: when normal is lost and then restored. As in, are you feeling better? A question often asked of those unwell. It asks if there are signs of improvement or progress. Better than before. Not better, as in perfect.

I am constantly striving for better and believe perfection is an illusion, or at the very least, temporary. 

I guess what I am talking about is hope. I am forever hopeful.

Of course, I have my days when it is harder to be hopeful. And after a good cry and self disparaging words, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and restore my hope. Sometimes with greater zeal than before.

These days, it is not so easily restored. Some days these thoughts I took for granted, are not there. They are replaced by whispers of doubt thick with a heavy sense of why bother. Carrying on is no longer assumed or effortless and I understand. 

 The drag of uninspired thoughts pull self worth and progress down. It is as though I am standing still. No longer moving forward. Seized parts disable me. It hadn’t occurred to me to take notice or take care of my well being because it had always been well. 

Now that I fumble around to find the light switch to bring it all back to light, I worry the power may not be on or the bulbs may not burn as bright. If the light within me dims, I don’t know how to bring it back. It has never been this dark for this long before. 

My desire for hope is rooted in helping others achieve the opportunity to strive for better.  I understand now that I may have the power to create change by bringing light to the possibility of hope so that every girl grows up with the endeavor to take on the world.

Her inner thoughts should shout yes, go, leap, it’s yours. In those thoughts lie power and privilege. 

Looking at year two of a pandemic that has been particularly hard on women, working women, and mothers, I see now how fortunate I was to have that inner drive that kept pushing me forward.  Seeing women drop out of the workforce to care for their children is necessary but no less devastating. Women occupied less than half of the chairs at the table of change before covid-19 and now the hiring pool for such promotions will contain even fewer women candidates. 

My frustration is second only to my sadness.

I felt as though I was next in line for that promotion. Now I am not so sure. What I do know is that I want those chairs occupied by those who never had the opportunity to hope. For they understand the true power and privilege in the ability to create change.  I have been overlooked and pushed out of the way by my male colleagues for over twenty years. I can only assume that my anti ‘yes, sir’ attitude has something to do with that. Although the most progressive of corporations agree that alike opinions do not create change, mine remains in the dark ages with similar looking, alike mined (mostly) men sitting at the decision making table.

I will not be silenced, nor will I move out of their way, but I will happily step aside if it will allow for greater change. 

Emily Wright original poem.

An Emily Wright original Poem: Blind. A shared secret about women, their strengths, and weaknesses. Women need each other to understand. Not judge.